A New Look at Linguistic
Analysis

John Kozy, Jr.

East Carolina University

Wittgenstein's
votaries embrace the sentiments expressed in the Investigations as
ardently as a young violinist might grasp a Stradivarius:

. . . we may
not advance any kind of theory. There must not be anything hypothetical in our
considerations. We must do away with all explanation, and description
alone must take its place. And this description gets its light, that is to say
its purpose—from the philosophical problems. These are, of course, not empirical
problems; they are solved, rather by looking into the workings of our language,
and that in such a way as to make us recognize these workings: in despite
of an urge to misunderstand them. The problems are solved, not by giving new
information, but by rearranging what we have always known. Philosophy is a
battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of
language.1

Thus speculative and
normative philosophy is abortive at best and befuddling at worst; its weapons
have proven to be but wooden lances and plaster swords in its battle against
ill-advised human ideals and apparently irrational human experience, and the
battlefield litter has cluttered men's minds. Now, only the use of linguistic
paradigms by analytical philosophers can remove this rubbish by rearranging the
knowledge in those minds befuddled by the dreams of traditional philosophers,
for the battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence is to be fought only
with words by an army whose sole weapon is description.

What the analytical
philosophers apparently forget, however, is that just as the trunk, branches,
and leaves of an oak imply the existence of hidden roots, statements have
implications which are sometimes philosophical. Consider, for instance, the word
'truth.' That there are three prominent philosophical definitions of it, all
advanced students of philosophy know. Each of these theories can be understood
as a logical consequence of certain philosophical statements. Advocates of the
correspondence theory, for instance, state that truths match reality while
falsehoods mismatch it; true statements picture facts and true ideas mirror
objects while false statements and ideas are distorted images of facts and
objects. Man when imbued with truth becomes nature's dressing table in whose
mirrors are to be found images of what is while when imbued with falsehood
becomes a carnival's fun house in whose mirrors are to be found grotesque
reflections. This definition is dualistic, for both a thing and its image are
postulated, and since epistemological dualism is the philosophical proposal that
a numerical difference exists between the content immediately present to the
knowing mind and the object known in non-inferential cognition, this proposal
implies such a dualistic definition of 'truth.' Thus the correspondence theory
can be understood as a consequence of this epistemological proposal, and the
coherence and pragmatic theories can be treated in parallel fashion. The
coherence theory, for example, can be thought of as a consequence of static
monism, since the advocates of such a philosophical proposal can be said to
advance that the Absolute is one infallible mind which instantly thinks thoughts
that constitute a systematically coherent whole in which every element entails
every other element. Logical consistency and mutual implication become the
criteria of truth; discovering the truth then becomes an exercise in logic.
Finally some dynamic monism can be said to be the basis of the pragmatic theory.
Experience, for instance, can be described as unique, since an identical
experience never returns. As William James says,

Free-will
practically means novelties in the world, the right to expect that in its
deepest elements as well as in its surface phenomena, the future may not
identically repeat and imitate the past. That imitation en masse is there, who
can deny? The general 'uniformity of nature' is presupposed by every lesser law.
But nature may be only approximately uniform. . . .2

Consequently, the
only possible way of knowing what is true at any particular moment is by
performing an experiment. If the experiment verifies the hypotheses upon which
it is founded, they are true; if not, they are false. The truth is that which
works.

Obviously, a pattern
exists here: in each case philosophers have made certain statements which imply
definitions of 'truth.' I would like to suggest that some of Wittgenstein's
statements also imply a definition of 'truth' and that this definition is
consonant with and perhaps even requires some speculative and normative
philosophizing.

One affirmation that
Wittgenstein makes is that words are taught by exhibiting their uses in concrete
situations. He calls this process ostensive or demonstrative teaching of words
and exemplifies it by using one of his famous language games:

[The function
of this language] is the communication between builder A and his man B. B has to
reach A building stones. There are cubes, bricks, slabs, beams, columns. The
language consists of the words "cube", "brick", "slab", "column". A calls out
one of these words, upon which B brings a stone of a certain shape. Let us
imagine a society in which this is the only system. of language. The child
learns this language from the grown-ups by being trained to its use. . . . It is
done by means of example, reward, punishment, and suchlike. Part of this
training is that we point to a building stone, direct the attention of the child
towards it, and pronounce a word. . . . In the actual use of this language, one
man calls out the words as orders, the other acts according to them. But
learning and teaching this language will contain this procedure: The child just
"names" things, that is, he pronounces the words of the language when the
teacher points to the things. In fact, there will be a still simpler exercise:
The child repeats words which the teacher pronounces.3

Thus, in this
language described by Wittgenstein, customs exist which are used to define
words: a teacher indicates the denotations of the names which are uttered. In
other words, the custom of saying something like, "This (while pointing to a
cube) is a cube," for example, is part of such a language, and such an
expression is an ostensive definition. As the vocabulary of such a language
grows, no doubt, verbal definitions such as "A bachelor is an unmarried man,"
will also be permitted.

If anyone should now
ask when such statements are true, the answer would be whenever they actually
express rules of usage. "This is a cube," for instance, is true whenever it is
stated while a cube is actually pointed to. Likewise, "A bachelor is an
unmarried man," is true if 'bachelor' is a synonym for 'unmarried man.' Such
expressions are true, in other words, when they are being used properly, and
this definition can easily be extended to cover contingent statements also—a
true statement may be defined as one whose use actually conforms to all the
rules of usage which define its proper use, i.e., as one which is being used
properly. For example, "The book is red," is true when it is being used in a
situation in which there actually is a red book, i.e., when both the statements,
"This (pointing to a book) is a book," and "This (pointing to the book again but
directing one's attention to its color) is red," are also true. I suggest, then,
that Wittgenstein's statements imply that truth is the proper way of using words
in declarative expressions; falsehood, an improper way of using words in such
expressions. A true statement, in other words, is one which is used in
association with the kind of circumstances which can be utilized to teach
someone its use, while a false statement is one which is used in association
with the kind of circumstances which cannot be utilized to teach anyone its use.

Now this definition
applies to all declarative expressions including value judgments, for a
particular moral judgment can be said to be true when it is used in association
with the kind of circumstances which can be utilized to teach someone its use;
otherwise, it is false, and a parallel affirmation can be made about aesthetic
judgments. For example, that honesty is good is true since the word 'good' can
be taught in association with situations which exemplify honesty; likewise, that
the girl in Renoir's Nude in Sunlight is beautiful is also true since the
word 'beautiful' can be taught in association with such a person, but that
honesty is evil and that the girl in Renoir's Nude in Sunlight is ugly
are both false since the word 'evil' cannot properly be taught in association
with situations which merely exemplify honesty and the word 'ugly' cannot
properly be taught in association with a person similar in physical features to
the girl in Renoir's painting.

Because the
definition of 'truth' that follows from Wittgenstein's statements can be applied
to value judgments, however, a traditional philosopher is apt to object to it,
and the first thing such a philosopher is likely to say is that whenever one
questions whether honesty is good or whether the girl in Renoir's Nude in
Sunlight is beautiful, he is not asking whether the word 'good' is taught in
association with situations which exemplify honesty nor whether the word
'beautiful' is taught in association with persons similar in physical features
to the girl in Renoir's painting. Everyone admits that! What he is questioning
is whether the words 'good' and 'beautiful' should be taught in association with
such situations. The second protest he is likely to make is that confusion
exists over the use of paradigms which are associated with value judgments,
since some value-words are taught by using more than one kind of paradigm. For
instance, the word 'beautiful' is taught in reference to nature, animals, human
beings, language, music, and graphic art—to name just a few
paradigm-categories—and the word 'good' is taught in reference to animals, human
beings, human actions, food, tools, etc. Finally he is apt to point out not only
that these paradigms must be distinguishable but that a decision about which
paradigm is preferable in making any particular judgment must be possible, and
this decision is not always easily made about value words. For example, in
judging whether or not Renoir's painting is beautiful, should the paradigm of
human beauty or some other be utilized?

A traditional
philosopher might conclude from these objections merely that the definition of
'truth' developed above is unsatisfactory and that, therefore, the definition
falsifies the philosophical statements from which it follows, but I would like
to suggest that it is not only satisfactory but that these objections can be
used to show that analytical philosophy and speculative and normative philosophy
are compatible. This suggestion can be supported in the following way: First, to
ask whether the words 'good' and 'beautiful' should be taught as they are is
merely to ask how one ought to define these words, for the question asks for a
decision about the use of language. To answer the question affirmatively is to
be satisfied with the normal linguistic procedures; to answer it negatively is
to be dissatisfied with such procedures. But, second, to notice that the same
question can be asked in connection with any other paradigm and that the
definition which follows from Wittgenstein's statements is sound regardless of
what paradigm is finally accepted is important, for then acceptance functions as
the final standard. Since there are no criteria to govern acceptance, questions
of why any particular paradigms are accepted have no uniform answer. Thus in
judging whether or not Renoir's painting is beautiful, the decision to utilize
one or another paradigm is not governed by any procedure which always works.
Should the paradigm of human beauty be utilized or some other? A debatable
question, one that permits differences of opinion. For a living language after
all is always incomplete—many linguistic rules that have not yet been formulated
can be and those which have already been formulated can be changed, since only a
dead language undergoes no change or growth. To reach a decision about the use
of paradigms in connection with Renoir's painting would be to establish—if one
could get the decision accepted—a new linguistic rule. Thus that philosophy can
be more than descriptive follows; philosophy can be genuinely creative. As
Nietzsche says:

I insist . . .
that people finally cease confounding philosophical workers, and in general
scientific men, with philosophers. . . . It may be necessary for the education
of the real philosopher that he himself should have once stood upon all those
steps upon which his servants, the scientific workers of philosophy, remain
standing, and must remain standing: he himself must perhaps have been critic,
and dogmatist, and historian, and besides, poet, and collector, and traveler,
and riddle-reader, and moralist, and seer, and "free spirit," and almost
everything, in order to traverse the whole range of human values and
estimations, and that he may be able with a variety of eyes and consciences to
look from a height to any distance, from a depth up to any height, from a nook
into any expanse. But all these are only preliminary conditions for his task;
this task itself demands something else—it requires him to create values. . . .
The real philosophers . . . are commanders and law-givers; they say:
"Thus shall it be!" They determine first the Wither and the Why of mankind . . .
they grasp at the future with a creative hand. . . . Their "knowing" is
creating, their creating a law-giving, their will to truth is—Will to Power.—Are
there at present such philosophers? Have there ever been such philosophers? Must
there not be such philosophers some day?4

In spite of the
claims of its adherents, linguistic analysis calls for such philosophers now.
The linguistic analyst needs the philosopher just as the engineer needs the
theoretical physicist, and although a philosopher should be educated in the
techniques of analysis, he must be creative nevertheless.

The only question is
who will be that philosopher? Who will create usages and thereby create values?
Almost anyone does it: the scientist, the writer, the bureaucrat, and even the
man in the street—everyone but the philosopher, so the analyst seems to say. But
why should the philosopher not create values too and even attempt to create
better ones? After all, the creation of such values is one of his traditional
tasks. Why should he not even construct fantastic metaphysical schemes to aid
him if he finds them useful? After all, the important thing is acceptance, that
the battle against ill-advised human ideals and apparently irrational human
experience be won. Of what matter are the weapons that he uses, as long as they
are effective? Why should philosophers not, then, do their utmost to change
values for the better, and even if philosophical attempts to create values are
never accepted, why should philosophers not attempt to be creative, why should
they not fight in the traditional battle against ill-advised human ideals and
apparently irrational human experience? I suggest not only that they should, but
that linguistic analysis implies and perhaps requires that they should, since
someone must create the changes that occur in a living language. Why should not
sensitive and thoughtful men with concerns for human life create these changes
and thereby influence mankind? For unguided change, even if the result of the
latest knowledge, can be as harmful as, if not more harmful than, ignorance;
after all, "knowledge without conscience is but the ruin of the soul," as
Rabelais writes. Linguistic analysts, then, if their ideas are to have any
validity, must admit that meanings can change. The philosopher has at least as
much right as anyone, and perhaps a greater right, to attempt to make these
changes. Thus I suggest that linguistic analysis at least comprehends
speculative and normative philosophy and perhaps involves it and that philosophy
again has endured in the face of criticism.

4Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, sec. 211
(The Philosophy of Nietzsche, Random

House, N. Y., 1954),
pp. 514—15.

Since
having done graduate work at both Cornell University and the Pennsylvania State
University, Mr. Kozy has taught at the Pennsylvania State University, the
University of Mississippi, and East Carolina University. He has been Chairman of
the Department of Philosophy at East Carolina University since
1963.